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Class 1 



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Book. . _— 
Copyright N°_ ' 



CfiEffilGllT DEPOSm 



POEMS 

("VERSES" AND " LATER POEMS") 



BY 



E. E. H. 

(Emma Endicott Hicks) 



CAMBRIDGE 

JJrinteU at Clje Eitoeratije {Jresg 
1922 






Copyright, 1895, and 1922 
By EMMA ENDICOTT HICKS 



Second Edition, 1922 



©CI.A681587 



NOTE 

To this second edition of " Verses " are now 
added some other poems, classified under the title 
of " Later Poems " ; the two collections being 
combined under the general title of " Poems." 
This edition of " Verses " differs slightly, in some 
instances, from the first, by reason of a few changes 
of expressions. 

E. E. H. 
Milton, 1922 



VERSES 



SDetucation* 

TO MY SISTER 
"There's pansies, that 's for thoughts." 

Will you take these little pansies? 

They are plucked for you; 
Not because I dare to deem them 

Rare in scent or hue, — 
But because in my own garden 

They have chanced to grow; 
How or why they came, I know not, — 

Whence, I do not know. 
Some were plucked in happy moments, 

Some with tears were wet; 
Breathe whate'er there is of fragrance, 

And aught else — forget ! 

E. E. H. 



Milton, 1895 



CONTENTS 

VERSES 
IN MEMORIAM. page 

W. H. H. {My Father) 3 

S. M. H. ( My Mother) 5 

PENSfiES. 

VOICES ON THE AIR II 

CHIARO-OSCURO 15 

SPIRIT OF MY HAPPY DAYS . . . . l8 

HAVE STRENGTH 20 

TO H. J 22 

UNDEFINED 24 

NOVEMBER 26 

THE POET 27 

TO A FRIEND 3° 

A SEARCH FOR PEACE 32 

THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR . . . .35 

COURAGE 38 

MOUNTAIN MIST 4° 

EASTER SONG 42 

WAITING 44 

A REVEILLE 46 

THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS . . .48 

A NOCTURNE 50 

TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY . . .52 

TO J. G 54 



CONTENTS 



NOONDAY WALK IN THE COUNTRY 


55 


THE AFTERGLOW .... 


56 




58 


THE WAYSIDE WORDS .... 


60 




. • 63 


TO A. A. J 


• 64 




. 66 


TO OUR MOTHER 


68 




. 70 


TO A BUTTERFLY .... 


72 






A TRANSFIGURATION .... 


75 


THE SOUL'S INQUIRY 


. . 76 


AN INVOCATION 


80 




. 81 


THE SADDEST THING .... 


. 84 


SALUTING THE FLAG 


. 86 


FAR AWAY 


88 


A SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON 


. . 89 


A YEAR 


90 







LATER POEMS 



A LYNTON MEMORY .... 


99 


THE NEW ALLEGIANCE . 


. 104 


AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH . 


I06 










TO S. H. A. (Miss Sarah Holland Adams) . 


. II4 


EASTER MORNING .... 


. Il6 


TO J. D. (Miss Jane Dow) , 


. Il8 


THE IDEAL IS THE REAL 


I20 







CONTENTS 



XI 



THE MAY-DAY MEETING OV. B. W.) . 


124 


a triolet: in may .... 


. 126 


AN EFFECT AT PROVINCETOWN 


127 






THANKFULNESS 


129 


TO E. C. {Miss Ellen Charming) 


. 132 


A SUMMER MORNING . 


• 134 






THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT 


. 138 






AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


142 




. 144 


TO L. D 


146 




. 148 


THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT 


149 


A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 


. 152 


TO MY SISTER (/. M. H.) . . . 


. 156 


A FAVORITE AUTHOR . . ♦ 


. . 158 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


• 159 






BY THE SEA 


164 


CARCASSONNE 


• • 165 



IN MEMORIAM 



W. H. H. 

HARK! I hear him singing, 
As he used to sing, — 
Sweet and glad hosannas 
To the Heavenly King! 

Voice and heart were ever — 
In accordance fine — 

Tuned to purest measures, 
And to songs divine. 

With celestial choirs 

His voice mingles now; 

And a soft and hallowed 
Light is on his brow. 

Radiant and white-robed, 
Do I see him stand, 

And his own child-angel 
Holds him by the hand. 
(3) 



W. E. H. 

With new life, new beauty, 
With joy heaven-born, 

He is sweetly singing, 

This bright Sabbath morn ! 

Night is merged forever 
In Eternal Dawn! 

Roxbury, June i, 1873. 



(Nc*e. — The little poem, W. H. H., was written in part 
by my sister, on the date recorded, and later was finished by 
myself. — E. E. H.) 



S. M. H. 

WHERE art thou now? — O thou whose 
constant presence, 
Hath ever blest my life, until to-day J 
Whose loving words and looks, like heavenly 
manna, 
Have dropped their nourishment upon my 
way! 

Where art thou now? — This vacancy and 
silence 
Tell me distinctly of thy worth at last; 
Like music only known by the vibrations 

That thrill our heart-strings when the 
sound is passed. 

Where art thou now? — What realm, what 
starry mansion, 
Hath opened to receive thy spirit bright? 
(5) 



6 S. M. H. 

Thou who didst love, in reverent devotion, 
To watch the heavenly splendors of the 
night? 

Where art thou now? — Didst thou with dying 
daylight, 
Pass through the western portals far 
away? 
And in the bright apocalypse of sunset, 
Find the new glories of another day? 

Where art thou now? — My spirit reacheth 
forward 
Into the darkness of its night's abyss; 
Wilt thou not answer? — Is there no connec- 
tion 
That love can use, when sense is power- 
less? 

Where art thou now? — Still, still the question 
riseth; 

Still I reiterate the plaintive cry; 
And strive with finite powers to interpret 

The mysteries of earth, and air, and sky. 



S. M . H. 7 

Where is that Spirit Land? that wondrous 
Country? 
That Heaven, that hath opened wide for 
thee? 
While we — with outstretched arms, and eager 
vision — 
" Stand gazing upward," like those "men 
of Galilee !" 

Milton, January 22, 1893. 



PENSEES 



VOICES ON THE AIR 

ANGEL voices on the air, 
When we most are unaware, 
Come, like answers to a prayer. 



Not alone at some rare time, 
When our spirits upward climb 
To the mountain heights sublime, 

When we feel ourselves to be 

Nearer to divinity, 

And our thoughts from earth set free, 

Like the birds in homeward flight, 
Or the flowers to the light, 
Strive to reach the Infinite; 

Not alone in some sweet mood, 
When, in happy solitude, 
Everything seems fair and good; 
(ii) 



12 VOICES ON THE AIR 

When to us all nature brings 
Sweet and tender utterings, 
With a rustling of wings; 

Not alone at times like these, — 
Times of ecstasy or ease, 
Or of holiest sympathies, — 

But as often when we wear 
In our souls some grief or care, 
Come these voices on the air; 

Lingering, although unsought, 

Till our minds from them have caught 

Something of diviner thought. 

Sometimes in the silence deep, 
Of the night-time, while we keep 
Nature's sacred tryst with Sleep, — 

Then through dreams I feel the sense 
Of a brooding influence, 
Like a sweet intelligence. 



VOICES ON THE AIR 13 

Sometimes in the busy maze, 
And along the narrow ways, 
Of life's most prosaic phase, — 

Something that I do not see, 
Something pure and heavenly, 
Comes between the world and me. 

And upon my heart they fall, — 
Voices, very still and small, 
Yet distinct as bugle call; 

Waking to new consciousness, 
My dull spirit, where may press 
Too much weight of earthliness; 

To a consciousness of right — 
Of an all-pervasive light, 
Of a clear and wider sight. 

Ever keep, heart of mine! 
One pure space, a sacred shrine, 
For the messages divine! 



14 VOICES ON THE AIR 

They will surely come to thee, 
Trooping in, by two and three, — 
A celestial company! 

And a peace divine they '11 bring, - 
Surely as the seeds of spring 
Make the summer's blossoming ! 



CHIARO-OSCURO 

I ASK not for a quiet sea, 
Over whose smooth expanse 
Of undisturbed monotony, 
No billows ever dance. 

I ask not for a cloudless sky, — 

A sky forever blue, — 
An endless sweep of heavenly 

But never-changing hue. 

I ask not for a day so calm 
That there will never be 

Some murmur of the breeze, to stir 
The dead tranquillity. 

I ask not that the course of life 
Too peacefully should flow; 

We cannot know the worth of joy 
Until we taste of woe. 
(15) 



16 CHIARO-OSCURO 

We cannot know how sweet it is 

To be beloved, unless 
We sometimes feel within our hearts, 

The pain of loneliness. 

It is the sorrow that is born 
Of parting, that can bring 

The joy of meeting, — and that makes 
Our love a living thing. 

It is the waves upon the sea — 
Not the impassive calm — 

Which measure its immensity, 
And give to it its charm. 

It is the changing clouds that float 

Across the summer sky, 
Which make it lovelier when they veil 

Its blue intensity. 

It is the mingled light and shade 

Over a lifetime thrown, 
Which gives to every happy scene 

A beauty of its own; — 



CHIARO-OSCURO 17 

A beauty that it could not have 

Without the shadow too; 
'T is only in the night-sky, that 

We see the stars shine through. 

So let me have — if have I must — 

Some moments that are sad; 
Lest too much peace should lose for me, 

The power to be glad. 



SPIRIT OF MY HAPPY DAYS 

SPIRIT of my happy days! 
In my heart will be — 
In my heart of hearts — a place 
Sacred still to thee! 

Thing of beauty and delight, 

Let me hold thee still! 
Let again thy presence bright 

All my being fill! 

Let thy sunny influence 

Shine upon my way, — 
Sending through the gloom most dense, 

A divinest ray! 

For the memory of thee, 

Is a joy more sweet 
Than any fair reality 

That I now may meet. 

(18) 



SPIRIT OF MY HAPPY DAYS 19 

May I never lose thy trace, 

Through receding years! 
Never seek in vain thy face, 

Through a mist of tears! 

But though clouds encompass me, 

And the world grow cold, 
May my thoughts still turn to thee, 

Spirit fair of old! 

And thou, answering my prayer, 

In my heart wilt seem 
Like a living presence there, — 

My real life the dream ! 



HAVE STRENGTH 

H 



AVE strength to love, heart! 
though thou art grieving 



No sweet return! 
Joy cometh more with giving than receiv- 
ing, — 

As thou wilt learn! 

Have strength to hope, O heart! — though 
where thou stray est, 
No light may shine! 
That dayspring from on high for which thou 
prayest, 

May yet be thine ! 

Have strength to bear, O heart! — though 
clouds and sorrow 
May be thy lot! 
For in the glorious, eternal morrow, 
'T will matter not! 
(20) 



HAVE STRENGTH 21 

Have strength to praise, heart, the mighty 
Giver! — 

Though there may be 
Some of Earth's fairest blessings that are ever 
Denied to thee! 

Have strength to feel, O heart, — though dark 
the way is, — 

The Hand that guides! 
'T will lead at last to where the perfect day 
is,— 

Whate'er betides! 



TO H. J. 

" There 's pansies, that } s for thoughts." 

DISTANT Friend! — so I must call you, 
Though, alas! I have not seen 
You in mortal form, but only 

In that mystic time, between 
Sleep and waking, I have fancied 
What must be your face and mien. 

I do not attempt the measure 

Of your praises to repeat; 
I must leave the theme to others, 

Who more ably it can treat; 
Yet — I would as your admirer, 

Lay this tribute at your feet. 

'T is a pansy, — so we '11 call it, — 

For a kind and loving thought! 
And across the broad blue ocean 

Do I send it to you, fraught 
(22) 



TO H. J. 23 

With the most delightful wishes 
That a pansy ever brought. 

And it thanks you, who have given 

Me so many pleasant hours. 
With earth's fairest things I class you, — 

With the sunshine and the flowers; 
And your words upon the spirit 

Fall like sweet, refreshing showers. 

More, I trust, — Oh many more, from 
Your enchanted pen may flow! 

They are surely sweetest pansies, 
That around our pathway grow. 

I would hold their charm and fragrance 
With me, wheresoe'er I go! 

Will you take this little pansy? 

Small, imperfect though it be, 
It is the attempted utterance 

Of a heart's sincerity, — 
Though it pales before the laurels 

That upon your brow I see. 

April 15, 1879. 



UNDEFINED 

UNNUMBERED blessings strew my path, 
My cup is running o'er; 
Some of life's sweetest gifts are mine; 
I dare not ask for more. 

And yet — within my heart there is 

One little empty spot, 
Which even in my happiest mood, 

Is never quite forgot. 

It is a longing undefined; 

It is not quite a thought; 
I cannot form it into words, 

Though for them I have sought. 

It is so very vague a thing, 

That even, if some day, 
A heavenly messenger should come, — 

An angel fair, — to say — 
(24) 



UNDEFINED 25 

" Child, I will listen to thy prayer, 

And grant thee thy request, 
If thou wilt tell to me the cause 

Of this divine unrest," — 

I think that even then I could 

Not tell him what to give; 
Yet — in my heart, this nameless need, 

Distinct, though negative. 



NOVEMBER 

IT is November! — Sadness deep 
Broods over nature. No sweet song 
Of bird does to this time belong. 
Oh, is this Death, or is it Sleep? 

I seek the garden that I loved; 

Each flower and leaf is stricken down. 

Oh, where is all that beauty flown 
That lately my glad eyes approved? 

I wander in the woods alone; 

The dry leaves rustle 'neath my tread; 

And through the branches overhead 
The winds pass, with a dreary moan. 

My heart takes up the sad refrain, 
And grieves, because so much of good, 
So much we would keep, if we could, 

Is gone, — and may not come again. 
(26) 



THE POET 

OTHOU that hast " the vision and 
The faculty divine," 
The poet's heart to understand, — 
What heritage is thine! 

Some may have beauty, honor, gold; 

But unto thee is given 
A source of happiness untold, 

Which lifts thee near to heaven. 

Whichever place thy home may be, 

A castle, or a cot, 
Whether in wealth or penury, 

To thee 't will matter not. 

No matter if thy friends are few, 

And fate is stern to thee; 
The good, the beautiful, the true, 

Are with thee constantly. 
(27) 



28 THE POET 

Thou lovest Nature's every mood; 

And solitude to thee, 
— If thou canst call it solitude — 

Is sweet society. 

The dawning day, the twilight hour, 

The starry solemn night, 
The whispering breeze, the summer shower, 

All fill thee with delight. 

And every little bird that sings, 

And every flower that blows, 
Speaks to thee of divinest things, 

Only a poet knows. 

These are thy friends, — thy spirit's friends, 

And they are true to thee. 
A constant joy their presence lends, 

Never satiety. 

Hold on thy way, poet heart! 

For, to thy loving quest, 
Life's lowliest things may yet impart 

Thoughts that are tenderest. 



THE POET 29 

And this is the " reward" it brings, — 

Thy heaven-born " Ideal," 
Thy fitful sweet imaginings, — 

These make for thee, the "Real." 



TO A FRIEND 

PLAYMATE of childhood's days! 
Ever to thee, • 
Memory turns her gaze, 

Most lovingly. 
Then we were children twain, 

Trusting and true, 
Without a thought of pain, 

Life was so new. 
We wandered hand in hand, 

All the bright hours; 
Earth seemed a pleasant land, 

Fair were its flowers. 

Friend of maturer years ! 

Still did I find 
All the hopes fancy rears, 

Round thee entwined. 
Thou wert my friend and guide, 

To thee I turned, 
(30) 



TO A FRIEND 31 

And first by thy dear side, 

Life's meaning learned. 

All my best thoughts I brought, 
Thy mind to greet, 

There to find what I sought, 
Sympathy sweet. 

Now, — thou art gone from me ! 

And nevermore 
May I commune with thee, 

By wood or shore. 
Yet in my heart I keep 

The ancient love; 
Though it be buried deep, 

I feel it move. 
And in thy distant home 

Over the sea, 
Where the azaleas bloom, 

Think, dear, of me! 



A SEARCH FOR PEACE 



ANGEL of Peace! — Oh, fold thy shining 
wings ! 
Abide with me ! 
The beauty and the light thy presence brings, 
At length I see ! 

.■For I have searched, — but searched for thee 
in vain, 
So many years ! 
"Yea, oftentimes with weary heart and brain, 
With blinding tears. 

I searched amid the worldly joys that youth 

Seeks eagerly; 
But there, I found at last, that thou, forsooth, 

Couldst never be. 

I searched in nature, — and in one sweet spot 
I found thy trace; 
(32) 



A SEARCH FOR PEACE 33 

But only that, — there even, I could not 
Behold thy face. 

And then I waited, — and I watched and 
prayed; 

But evermore 
Thy gracious coming was for me delayed; 

My heart was sore. 

I gave up searching for thy presence, then; 

It could not be. 
I calmly took life's burden up again, 

Nor thought of thee. 

And so it came to pass, that day by day 

I grew more strong, 
More patient with life's strait and narrow 
way; 

And before long, 

The day came, — when 'round me a light did 
shine, 
So sweet, so pure, 



34 A SEARCH FOR PEACE 

I knew it was — could only be — divine, 
And I felt sure 



That thou wert come. I raised my eyes, — 
and oh ! 

There didst thou stand! 
With radiant face over me bending low, 

With outstretched hand ! 

At last, I found thee, — then thou cam'st to 
me, — 

I know not how; — 
Cam'st in an hour when least I thought to see 

Such joy; — and now, 

Angel of Peace! oh, fold thy shining wings, 

Ne'er let us part ! 
The benediction which thy presence brings 

Now fills my heart! 



THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR 

THRICE welcome, every sight and sound 
That doth thy advent tell! 
gentle Spring! O happy Spring! 
Beauty ineffable! 

If I could make a calendar, 

The first of May should be 
The birthday of the year, — for then 

Is thy nativity. 

For then are all things new; a new 

Heaven and earth appear; 
Nature is born again; thou art 

The childhood of the year! 

The summer's glory, or the wealth 

Of autumn is not thine, — 
But yet, thou hast a sweeter grace, 

A beauty more divine; 
(35) 



36 THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR 

A fairer charm than any that 
Those later times disclose, — 

As morning is more fair than noon, 
The rosebud than the rose. 

I stand with reverence before 

Thy hidden mysteries; 
Thy state of promise seems far more 

Sweet than completion is. 

Each fibre of my being owns 

Thy mystic influence ; 
My heart is full of new-born hope; 

I have a deeper sense 

Of life, of nature, and of God, — 
And, with each opening flower, 

I feel my heart expand, to hold 
The promptings of the hour. 

I love thee all, — thy fragrant air, 
Thy leaves of tender green, 

Thy violets — the sweetest flowers 
That ever grow, I ween ! 



THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR 37 

And so thou art my favorite ! 

And so to thee I bring 
This offering of song and praise, 

To thee, young lovely Spring! 



COURAGE 

"True repentance is not a backward-looking despair, 
but a forward-looking courage, and hopeful endeavor." 
— Rev. Dr. Putnam. 

COURAGE, O heart! — and be not "back- 
ward looking!" 
Let dull despair no longer with thee stay; 
Brood not over thy yesterday's sad failure; 
Live in the glad, all-possible To-day! 

Waste not thine energies in vain regretting ; 

But strive thy present duties to fulfil. 
The Past is dead; it is beyond recalling; 

But we may mould the Future as we will. 

And we may profit by each sad experience; 

May let each failure be a stepping-stone 
To something that is higher, purer, nobler, — 

And thus we may be able to atone. 
(38) 



COURAGE 39 

Life is so full of deep and tender meaning, 
Such glorious possibilities abound, 

That every "hopeful," every true "endeavor," 
With good and grand results may yet be 
crowned. 

Now God be thanked that unto us is given, 

A new, fresh field of action every day. 
Then courage, heart! and be not " backward 
looking," 
But for new strength of purpose humbly 
pray. 



MOUNTAIN MIST 

DIM and distant seem the mountains, 
Barely can they be descried; 
Strange portentous clouds they look like, 
Yet my soul is satisfied; 

For I know that they are waiting 

In their majesty and might, 
Till the fog-dispelling sunshine 

Shall reveal them to my sight. 

So a tender blessing often 
The dull garb of sorrow wears, 

For our narrow-sighted vision 
Sees it through a mist of tears. 

But I ween in that bright morning 
When our tears are wiped away, 

And we see things clearly, in the 
Light of the Eternal Day, — 
(40) 



MOUNTAIN MIST 41 

Then we shall find grace and beauty 
Where we deemed they could not be, — 

For earth's sorrows will be blended 
In a heavenly harmony. 



EASTER SONG 

I HEAR angel voices singing! 
Wondrous tidings they are bringing! 
Strangely sweet their heavenly music, beauti- 
ful the words they say! 
And my heart is quickly beating, 
As I listen to the greeting, — 
" Weeping Earth, put off your sadness, Christ 
the Lord is risen to-day!" 

Loving friends come at the dawning 
Of the holy Easter morning, — 
But the sepulchre is empty, and the stone is 
rolled away. 
To the cry from hearts forsaken, 
"Where has my dear Lord been taken?" — 
Comes the blessed answer, — "Seek not here, 
for He is risen to-day!" 

grave, thou art not victorious! 
Morning cometh, glad and glorious! 
(42) 



EASTER SONG 43 

Clouds of doubt and darkness vanish, faith is 
come, with us to stay. 
Bring earth's flowers for a token 
That the sleep of death is broken, 
That we too shall rise immortal, as our Lord is 
risen to-day. 

Earth this day puts off her sadness, 
And all nature feels the gladness! 
Every bird of air proclaims it, and each flower 
by the way! 
The long winter night is over, 
Hope's fruition we discover, 
And we sing with hosts angelic, — " Christ 
the Lord is risen to-day!" 



WAITING 

HIDDEN in the marble quarry, 
— Prison walls indeed — 
Waiting till some artist spirit 

Shall its being heed, 
There is many a form of beauty, 
Longing to be freed. 

There are melodies undreamed of 

In the organ's breast; 
Depths of pathos, heights of rapture, 

Never yet expressed; 
Waiting till some hand inspired 

Wakes them from their rest. 

» 

And the air is full of poems, 
Waiting to be sung. 

(44) 



WAITING 45 

Ofttimes in my heart their mystic 

Cadences have rung. 
Who is he, so pure, so tender, 
That he may their beauty render, 

In our mortal tongue? 



A REVEILLE 

WAKE, my soul! Enough of slumber! 
Dream no more the hours away; — 
These bright hours that in the counting 
Make our little day. 

Fields of action lie before thee, 

Beautiful, and grand, and true; 
Wilt thou linger by the wayside 
With the goal in view? 

Wilt thou cease from thine endeavor, 

When thy task is almost done ? 
Wilt thou lay aside thine armor, 
Ere the battle 's won? 

Nay! — but with a will unwearied, 

Forward press, no duty shirk! 
For too soon the night-time cometh, 
When no man can work. 
(46) 



A REVEILLE 47 

Wake, — and answer then the roll-call! 

For the moments will not stay; 
In our lifetime's calendar, there 
Is but one To-day! 



THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS 

BEAUTIFUL spirit of a flower! 
That for an hour, 
Comes with ethereal loveliness, 
This world to bless, — 
We gaze with reverence upon your perfectness. 

When other flowers close their eyes, 
Then you arise ; 

And while all Nature seems to sleep, 
Your vigils keep; 
As if to hide your radiance in shadow deep. 

But even darkness could not hold 
The tale untold, — 
For on the summer evening air, 
Your perfume rare, 
Rising like incense from your shrine, would 
guide us there. 
(48) 



THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS 49 

Some inspiration of a dream 
To me you seem; 
That with the dawning of the day 
Passes away; 
Some pure, celestial visitor, that will not stay. 

Like nothing earthly you appear ; 
Our atmosphere 
Cannot sustain a flower so fine; 
Too soon you pine ; — 
But you may bloom in Heaven, perhaps, with 
life divine ! 



A NOCTURNE 

,r TpIS gone, — the sunset's lingering gold, 

-L And night doth spread 
Its shadows sad and manifold: 
The day is dead. 

The trees look weird against the sky, 

And seem to me 
To stretch their giant arms on high 

Imploringly. 

The soft, blue outline of the hills 

No more is seen; 
There is a deep, dark wall that fills 

The space between. 

There is no movement of the air; 

No sound is heard; 
No leafy murmur anywhere; 

No voice of bird. 
(50) 



A NOCTURNE 51 

Before some mystic influence, 

Nature seems bowed 
In silence that is so intense, 

My thoughts seem loud. 

This strangely solemn hour would 

My soul oppress 
With feelings of disquietude 

And loneliness, — 

But it is given me to know 

A great delight, — 
For thou art with me, dear — and so, 

It is not night! 



TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY 

i 804-1 886 

T T 7E come with gift, and flower, and song, 
* » Which rightly to this time belong, — 
And an innumerable throng 

Of prayers, and wishes sweet; 
And on this joyous tenth of May, 
Our little offerings we lay 

At your dear feet. 

In the far-distant sunny South, 
Where Nature wears perennial youth, 
Your flower of life had birth; — in truth 

Of this fair month a part. 
And you — though joy may oft have slept — 
Have ever through life's changes kept 

Some Maytime in your heart. 

The record saith fourscore and two! 
But gently hath time dealt with you, 

(52) 



TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY 53 

And when in memory you look through 

The vista of past years, 
You see across the pathway laid, 
Much more of sunshine than of shade, 

More smiles than tears. 

Fourscore and two! — Yet can it be? 
So little change in you we see, 
You wear your years so gracefully, 

Your life is still so bright ! 
With you most truly doth abide 
The promise, that "at eventide 

It shall be light!" 

And so, we do not choose to say 
That time hath borne a year away, 
But rather, on this happy day, 

Another year is given! 
Another pure and perfect gem 
Is added to the diadem 

Bestowed by Heaven! 

Milton, May 10, 1886. 



TO J. G. 

July 12, 1886 

ON this thy birthday morning, my friend ! 
What can I give to thee, of fair or sweet? 
To thee, whose life is now so all complete 
With the full joys which love and friendship 

lend, 
And blessings manifold which Heaven doth 

send! 
'T is useless to lay flowers at thy feet, — 
Thou with a garden full, — and yet 't is meet 
That on this day, some word of mine should 

blend 
With the kind wishes others wish for thee ; 
So from my heart of hearts I ask for thine 
Its own desire to infinity; — 
And that more summers' suns may o'er thee 

shine 
In happy sequence, and that strength may be 
The added blessing from the Hand divine! 

(54) 



NOONDAY WALK IN THE COUNTRY 

A SUMMER noontide! — Bathed in con- 
fluent light, 
The landscape lies before me, warm and 

fair. 
A dreamy silence broods upon the air, 
Almost as perfect as the dead of night, — 
And broken only by the humming flight 
Of insects in the sun. All objects wear 
The calm expression of surcease from care. 
No signs of human movement greet my 

sight, — 
The cattle lie and ruminate at will, — 
The flowers turn their beauty toward the 

ground. 
All 's motionless, as if the sun stood still, — 
As if the world, tired with turning round, 
Paused, — and forgot her duty to fulfil. 
Such utter rest! Such solitude profound! 

(55) 



THE AFTERGLOW 

SAD the day had been and sunless, 
Desolate each sight and sound; 
Autumn winds distinctly moaning, 

Dead leaves fluttering to the ground; 
Earth and sky with one expression, — 
That of dreariness profound. 

But there came — a sunset glory, 
A divinely gold surprise, — 

Like the door of Heaven seeming 
To my dazzled mortal eyes; 

Like an infinite desire, 
That at last we realize. 

Sad the day had been and sunless, 
In my heart, — for hope had fled. 

Through the valley of the shadow 
I believed my pathway led ; 

And the " colors of my spirit" 
Dimmed the daylight overhead. 
(56) 



THE AFTERGLOW 57 

But through the encircling shadows, 

Suddenly I saw — thy face ! 
Beaming like a star above me, 

With its soft, effulgent grace; 
Like the beauty of the sunset, 

Making luminous the place. 

Then, like captive bird from fetter, 
Quickly was my heart set free ! 

Nature wore another aspect, 
Beautiful exceedingly! 

For my hope, my dream, my longing, 
Was at last fulfilled for me ! 



A MEMORY 

i 



THOUGHT that it was buried 'neath the 
weight of years, — 
I thought that it was dead. 
But no! — it only slept — and it to-day up- 
rears 
Its beautiful, prone head, 



And gazes at me with those wonderful sad 
eyes, 
Reproachfully, which say, — 
"Thou art less faithful, O my friend, than 
I! Arise 
To truer life to-day! 

" Oh, how couldst thou imagine I was dead, — 
I who 
Am of thy life a part? 
Oh, how couldst thou those vain and fleeting 
forms pursue, 
Which pressed me from thy heart? " 
(58) 



A MEMORY 59 

I listen, — and the floods of wakened thoughts 
which come 
O'erwhelm me with their might. 
The present fades from my inverted gaze, 
like some 
Star in the dawning light. 

And in that dawn, in which I wake as from 
a dream, 
One thought — all thoughts above — 
Holds precedence within my heart; once more 
I seem 
To live, and breathe, and love. 

"Oh, stay, forever stay, dear memory!" — I 
cry,— 
"I hold thee as mine own! 
I now can let full willingly the world go by, — 
I need but thee alone!" 



THE WAYSIDE WORDS 

On a grassy slope, close by the wayside of one of the 
country roads of Milton, every passer-by during the 
summer and autumn has observed these words, — cut 
in the turf, very simply, but with beautiful exactness, 
— "Jesus Only," — with a cross between. 

JESUS Only!" — Like a tender 
"In remembrance of me," 
These sweet words have graced the wayside 
For all eyes to see. 

In their beautiful distinctness, 
Even he that ran could read ; 
Ne'er was flower-garden tended, 
With such loving heed. 

It was like a benediction, 

Coming on them unawares, 
With a heart perchance o'erburdened 
With its worldly cares. 
(60) 



TEE WAYSIDE WORDS 61 

They were such a sweet reminder 

Of redeeming love and grace, 
That that rural hillside seemed a 
Consecrated place. 

They have drawn my footsteps thither, 

Many a time in sun or shade ; 
For I went to feel the blessing 
That their presence made. 

All the country road seemed fairer, 

With its charms of wood and sky, 
With its charms of field and flower, 
That delight the eye. 

And the cottage homes reposing 

In that blest retirement, 
Seemed illumined with a radiance, 
By those letters lent. 

And the lives within them surely 
Must more gentle be and true, 
Waking morning after morning, 
With those words in view. 



62 THE WAYSIDE WORDS 

" Jesus Only!" — Though their beauty 

I may now no longer see, 
Still I feel them — as we feel some 
Finished melody. 

Some with noble aim and tender, 
Have to men evangels taught; 
Some perchance have written poems, 
Born of purest thought. 

But those letters by the wayside, 
Have as much a power proved; 
For a poet's prayer is answered, 
If one heart is moved. 

So I give thee thanks, unknown one, 

For this graceful work of thine; 
Be thou high, or be thou humble, 
'T was a thought divine! 

Milton, January, 1890. 



ILLUMINED 

NOW hath thy presence made 
Sunshine where else were shade, 
Beauty for ashes laid 

Over the land! 
And on my lashes wet, 
Where there may linger yet, 
Some trace of past regret, 
Lay thy soft hand! 

Open thine arms to me, 
With thy large sympathy, 
So that my heart may be 

Beating with thine! 
Over my spirit's night 
Beams thy reviving light, 
Making my pathway bright 

With day divine ! 
(63) 



TO A. A. J. 

FRIEND of childhood! gone before me 
To the far mysterious Land, 
Where no sound of voice may reach thee, 
And no writ of hand ! 

Latest link of all that bound me 

To my childhood's home, which lies 
Like a distant star which memory's 
Halo sanctifies! 

Though I may not miss thy presence, 

For so many suns have set 
Since our hands have touched in greeting, 
Or our eyes have met, — 

Yet I will miss very keenly 

The sweet interchange of thought 
Which through many years our white-winged 
Messengers have brought. 
(64) 



TO A. A. J. 65 

And through all the days that may be 

In the future, there will be 
In my heart one spot forever 
Consecrate to thee. 

And that spot will hold in keeping — 

Like a safe retreat of rest — 
Some of childhood's fairest memories, 
And its tenderest. 

Memories that through life's changes, 

Ever young will keep, and bright, 
And amid the evening shadows, 
Carry morning light. 

For how close the tie that held us, 
Only thou canst understand ! — 
Friend of childhood, gone before me, 
To the far mysterious Land ! 

July, 1891. 



MY HOUR 

IT came so near! — this precious thing, - 
I need not tell you what; 
A heart, a flower, or a gem, — 
For now, it matters not. 

It came so near ! — this ecstasy, — 

If I my hand had stirred, 
Or raised an eyelid, or pronounced 

The lowest murmured word, 

I might have drawn it to myself. 

But in that hour supreme, — 
That hour for which my soul had longed, 

In waking thought and dream, — 

That hour which Heaven had granted me 

As mine beyond dispute, — 
My spirit failed, — and I remained 

But motionless and mute. 
(66) 



MY HOUR 67 

It came so near ! — and then it passed 

Forever on its way. 
My opportunity is now 

A thing of yesterday. 

Of yesterday, — or years ago, — 

It is the same to me; 
That hour is sunk into the past, 

So deep and utterly. 

ye, who dream of higher flight 

In unrestricted air, — 
Pray duly when the hour comes, 

For strength divine — to dare! 



TO OUR MOTHER 

ON HER EIGHTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, WITH 

THE PRESENTATION OF A 

CANE 

YOUTH has beauty for its dower; 
Strength and wisdom wait 
On maturity's full hour; 
But the pomp of state, 
And the sceptre-wielding power, 
Come with eighty-eight ! 

So to you we bring this token 

Of our love most true; 
Of our fealty unbroken, 

All the ages through; 
Of the vows we erst have spoken 

And once more renew! 
(68) 



TO OUR MOTHER 69 

For a sceptre, strong and steady, 

Is this ebon wand ! 
Wield it, O most gracious lady, 

With a gentle hand! 
We, your subjects ever ready, 
Bow to your command. 

Milton, May 10, 1892. 



HOW A POEM CAME 

I FELT an influence, pure, divine, unseen, 
To me descend, as to mown grass the 
rain; 
And hovering midway, earth and heaven be- 
tween, 
Lift me a little, from my lower plane. 

And in that altitude, my spirit caught 

A sense of ecstasy, supreme and whole; 
Each earth-born longing, and unworthy 
thought 
Fell off — like Lazarus' cerements — from 
my soul. 

Another atmosphere surrounded me, — 
So free I felt, — so infinitely blest; 

My loosened spirit seemed in harmony 
With all that truest is, and tenderest. 
(70) 



HOW A POEM CAME 71 

A measured cadence floated on the air — 
Wordless and vague, — and yet distinctly 
felt; 

Itself repeating like a voiceless prayer, 
Till deep within my heart it seemed to melt. 

And presently, — though whence I do not 
know, — 

Beyond my own volition, came a phrase, 
And then another, with the cadence, — so, 

To me a poem came — one day of days. 



TO A BUTTERFLY 

BUTTERFLY, with wings of gold, 
To whose velvet beauty clings 
All the sweetness manifold, 
Of a hundred blossomings, — 

Poising in suspended flight, 
Where the fairest flowers be, 

Fluttering from left to right, 
In a sweet uncertainty, — 

Then a fine selection making, 

Of the loveliest of all, 
And some soft communion taking, 

For a resting interval, — 

Your resplendent wings with pleasure, 
Gently fanning to and fro, 

As to mark some fairy measure, 
For our human ears too low, — 
(72) 



TO A BUTTERFLY 73 

Sailing brightly through the air, 

Like a sunbeam vivified, 
Claiming your ecstatic share 

Of the wondrous summer-tide, — 

Tell, oh, tell me what you are, 
Product of the summer hour ! 

Are you, sweet, a fallen star, — 
Or a risen flower? 



MY AMULET 

ORING of gold, with chrysoberyls rare! 
Thy mystic circle holds a memory. 
Thou art the link that binds two friends to 

me; 
One living still on earth, — one in that fair 
And far-away celestial City, where — 
As the divine Evangelist did see 
In his apocalyptic mystery — 
The streets are purest gold beyond compare ; 
And gates of pearl; and each foundation 

stone 
Of such transcendent brilliancy, that they 
Resemble thee; and so I think that thine 
Must be a heavenly substance ; that I own 
In thee an amulet — that o'er my way 
Can ever shed an influence benign! 

(74) 



A TRANSFIGURATION 

I FROM my window, at the dawn of day, 
Gazed on a world transfigured ! Heavenly 

white, 
The snow — o'er earth fresh-fallen through the 

night, — 
Like a pure resurrection garment lay; 
And in a sky of opalescent gray, 
A morning moon! Through all, a strange 

sweet light, 
Diffusive, without shadow! — 'T was a sight 
Too beautiful for pencil to portray, 
Or pen interpret, — for it was much more 
Than beauty, and beyond analysis. 
The essence of a prayer it seemed to me ; 
That I, in that still hour, bowed before 
The apotheosis of Earth, — that this 
Mortal had put on immortality! 

Milton, January 10, 1893. 
(75) 



THE SOUL'S INQUIRY 

WHAT is life, — I vainly pondered, — 
With its dreams, and high intents? 
With its spiritual longings, 
And its deep abandonments? 
What am I in my estate, 
One with all, yet separate? 

I have asked the murmuring waters, — 

I have asked the solemn woods, — 
And the stars that hold their vigils 

Through the midnight quietudes; 

And each bird that sings by day 

Its ecstatic roundelay. 

But, although my heart stops beating 
That the voices may be heard, — 
(76) 



THE SOUL'S INQUIRY 77 

Neither woods, nor murmuring waters, 
Shining stars, nor note of bird, 
Ever any answers bring 
To my human questioning. 

While I mused, a seer approached me, — 
Radiant eyes, and haloed head, 

And a look of peace effulgent; 
And unto myself I said, — 
"He can tell what answers be, 
To my soul's inquiry." 

So with reverent mien and measure, 
I the radiant one addressed; — 

"Tell me, prophet, from thy wisdom, 
And thy height of peace possessed, — 
Thou who conquerest in the strife, 
Tell the meaning of my life!" 

And to me the seer made answer, — 
"Many a restless human heart 

Seeks, as thou dost seek, a knowledge 
That the world may not impart; 



78 THE SOUL'S INQUIRY 

Asks as thou dost, — and the cry 
Finds but echo for reply. 

"Like a traveller who wanders 
Wearily in distant lands, 

In pursuit of plant or pebble, — 
And returns with empty hands, 
Finding at his cottage door, 
What his life was longing for, — 

" So with thee in thy researches; — 
Seek not through the earth and sky, 

For an answer to the mystic 
Problem, — ' What and why am I? ' — 
For that answer unexpressed, 
Lieth latent in thy breast. 

" Veil thine eyes, invert thy vision, 

Fold thy hands, — with bated breath, 
Listen to the sweet and silent 

Teachings that the spirit saith! 

Listen with quiescent will, 

As to holy oracle ! 



THE SOWS INQUIRY 79 

"Thus — and thus alone — thou learnest 
What thy being doth presage, 

What its highest human meaning, 
What its heavenly heritage. 
To thine introspective thought, 
Is the word and vision brought." 



AN INVOCATION 

O DREAM divine — to which my thoughts 
aspire, 
When they are freest, best, and happiest, — 
Oh come to me again, with influence blest! 
Come with thy pure and pentecostal fire, 
And regulate each earthly-born desire 
That would oppose the spirit's high behest! 
Come like immortal love made manifest, 
And draw me up to purer planes and 

higher ! — 
'T is possible, in this our low estate, 
To feel a blessedness that can assuage 
Our vague unrest, and bid all sorrow cease. 
For this my longing soul doth supplicate, 
To claim by right this blessed heritage, — 
The Spirit's fruit, — of "love, and joy, and 

peace!" 

(80) 



CHRISTMAS 

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, 
good mil toward men" 

AGAIN it comes! This holiest season, 
bringing 
The blessedness of promise verified. 
And happy bells throughout the land are ring- 
ing 
A welcome to the joyous Christmas-tide. 



Again we ponder o'er the sacred story, 

With its deep pathos, and its joy sublime, — 

How Jesus came with "trailing clouds of 
glory," 
To live on earth, in that far-distant time. 

We see a vision of the manger lowly, 
Which Mary, the sweet mother, bends 
above, 

(81) 



82 CHRISTMAS 

While a soft halo, luminous and holy, 

Surrounds the wondrous Child like heavenly 
love. 

We see the faithful shepherds, who are keep- 
ing — 
Throughout the star-lit hours of the night — 
Their silent watches while their flocks are 
sleeping, 
Until aroused by the archangel bright, 

Who comes, the beautiful evangel bringing, 
Of promised blessing which to earth be- 
longs; 
While angel hosts from highest Heaven are 
singing 
That tenderest of all immortal songs. — 



*O k 



Distinct above the murmur of earth's voices, 
Rises the cadence of that strain divine, — 

And listening hearts, it evermore rejoices, 
As when it sounded first in Palestine. 



CHRISTMAS 83 

" Peace, peace on earth!" — This is the Christ- 
mas greeting, — 
The sweetest, and the holiest, and the best! 
" Glory to God, goodwill toward men!" re- 
peating 
The sacred words by angel choirs expressed. 

When we can understand the heavenly pleas- 
ure, 
The highest meaning that the song im- 
parts, 
And when our pulses beat to the sweet meas- 
ure, — 
Then we may hold a Christmas in our 
hearts. 



THE SADDEST THING 

WHAT is the saddest thing on earth? 
Is it the farewell given 
To those who fade from human sight 
And from our arms' encircling might, 
And wing their way to Heaven? 

Is it when love has been withdrawn? — 

Love which we thought to be 
So true in its divine excess, 
That we could hold its blessedness 

Through life's entirety? — 

Though earth's farewells, or love's eclipse, 

The loss of all that's glad, 
May take the sunlight from our days, — 
There seems to me another phase, 

More desolately sad. 
(84) 



THE SADDEST THING 85 

*T is when, (O heart of mine! implore 

That thou mayst never know 
The depth of this superlative, 
When living is to cease to live, 

Life's pulses are so low) — 

'T is when, with faith's ideal gone, — 
That dayspring from above, — 

A heart hath lost its right to be, 

With its divine capacity 
Of knowing how to love. 

This is the saddest thing on earth! — 

The darkest, loneliest lot 
That thought can reach — and Holy Writ 
In solemn words amrmeth it — 

Is his, that "loveth not." 



SALUTING THE FLAG 

Milton, April 27, 1894 

IT was a hero's birthday! — when 
The flag was floating high, 
In grateful memory of one 
Who was "not born to die." 

From out the country schoolhouse came 

Children, in rank and file, 
Who 'round the green enclosure marched 

In military style. 

And then about the flag they paused, — 

A semicircle bright — 
Child faces, beautiful in noon's 

Illuminating light! 

Each head was bared, each small right hand 

Was reverently raised, — 
And while upon the emblem which 

O'ershadowed them, they gazed, 
(86) 



SALUTING THE FLAG 87 

Their voices blended in a vow 
To guard their country's good; 

An infant vow of loyalty, 
Allegiance, gratitude. 

And we, who looked and listened, felt 

Within our hearts a sense 
Of newly- waked devotion, 

And of deeper reverence. 

A something in those childish tones 

Stirring the quiet air, — 
Which thrilled one like a touch divine, 

Like sacrament, or prayer. 

And memories of other scenes, 

Too sacred to forget, 
Came with a rush of tenderness 

That filled the heart, — but yet, 

We felt no sweeter vow could be, 

No purer from above, 
Than that which infant lips pronounced 

Of loyalty and love. 



FAR AWAY 

FAR away! — But earthly distance, 
Sweep of land, and sweep of sea, 
Cannot with their blended forces 

Keep my thought from thee ! 

What is distance, as we measure? 

What is time, and what is place? 
When the spirit moves unswerving, 

Unrestrained, through space? 

Far away? — The words I utter, 

But I heed not their decree! 
What so animate as spirit? 

Or as thought so free? 
(88) 



A SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON 

OUR pathway leads us to a little lake, 
As " placid" as Lake Leman, and as 
"clear!" 
With bowered banks, and fragrant pine-trees 

near. 
Here we draw rein ! — Distinct reflections 

make 
A double picture; the still waters take 
The blue sky to themselves, which doth ap- 
pear 
More lovely mixed with silver. Far and near 
A silence — that no faintest echoes break — 
Pervades the air, and in the heart doth fall 
Like a divine impulsion; golden haze 
— With beauty and with charm ineffable — 
Illumines like a halo! It is all 
Too sweet for sadness, — yet these perfect 

days 
Bring us the message of their own farewell! 

(89) 



A YEAR 

A YEAR of seasons and of days! 
Of mornings with their golden haze, 
Of noon's illuminating rays, 

Of evening quietudes! 
A year like Nature's other years, 
In form and sequence it appears, 
With its commingling of tears, 

And smiles, and varying moods. 

Like Nature's other years, — but yet, 
Deep in my inmost heart are set 
Impressions I can ne'er forget, 

Which make it different. 
One is a shadow, like the night, 
And one above it hovers bright, 
A halo of divinest light, 

Of heaven-born intent! 
(90) 



A YEAR 91 

And when in thought I live again 
The moments of the shadow's reign, — 
There ever comes to soften pain, 

This holy benison. 
It comes like a descending dove, 
Bringing a message from above, 
Under whose influence of love 

I feel — " Thy will be done." 

It breathes a blessedness and calm 
That silences my heart's alarm; 
It fills my spirit with the balm 

Of the still words it saith. 
So, by the shadow's mystery, 
A glory is revealed to me, 
Till then, I could not truly see, — 

The radiant angel, — Faith! 



MY DAY-DREAM 

I HAVE a dream, — a pleasant dream, - 
A day-dream that I cherish! 
A living thing within my heart, 
Whatever else may perish. 

Whatever else may turn aside, 

Or in allegiance falter, 
My spirit's guest in faithfulness, 

Nor time, nor chance, can alter. 

It comes to me when shadows drift 
Across my day's completeness. 

It brings a sunlight of its own, 
That fills me with its sweetness. 

If one should question, "Which is more 
Like truth — life as we make it, 

Or this thy dream?" — I could affirm, — 
"The dream is, as I take it." 
(92) 



MY DAY-DREAM 93 

And so — what matters it, though stars 
Grow dim, or flowers perish, — 

If I but hold my pleasant dream, 
My day-dream that I cherish? 



LATER POEMS 



TO MY SISTER 

Still to you, my dear companion, do I dedicate 
my verses — 
Which come, unbidden and unsought, from 
earth and air and sky; 
With you, I share the messages the spirit-world 
rehearses — 
As " we wander on together, you and I." 

E. E. H. 

"The Terraces" 
Milton, 1922 



A LYNTON MEMORY 

SHELLEY'S "Skylark!" — Who can ever 
Read that rhapsody sublime, 
And not feel the spirit quicken, 
And the heart beat time? 

Those enrapt and thrilling phrases 

Shelley, only, could indite; 
He, whose winged fancies, seem like 
Skylarks, in their flight. 

But we know — for he has told us, 

In his rare apostrophe — 
The "blithe spirit's" presence, was a 
Twilight mystery. 

Thus it was, my heart desired, 
Not alone that I might hear 
That enchanted music, seeming 
From another sphere, 

(99) 



100 A LYNTON MEMORY 

But that I might see the singer, 

— Bird, or angel in disguise, — 
Were it not too near to Heaven, 

For my human eyes. 

And the longing found fulfilment; 

Now, with rapture, I can say, — 
I have seen the dream, the spirit, 
The fair star of day! 

'T was one summer morn in Devon, 

— Shelley there had lived and sung, 
That we wandered on the upland, 

Ferns and flowers among, 

While below us lay the rural 

Beauty of the peaceful dale, 
And o'er all, the sky of England, 
With its silvery veil. 

Presently — from out the stillness — 

Came a flood of melody, 
So divine and so ecstatic, 
So from earth set free, 



A LYNTON MEMORY ioi 

That it thrilled one's heart to hear it — 

And on looking upward — there, 
Far above, in flight suspended, 
Like some spirit fair, 

We beheld the feathered songster, 

We beheld the star of day, — 
For we had, upon the upland, 
Reached the lark half-way. 

We could note the quick yet rhymic 

Movement of the glancing wings — 
As to mark the music's cadence, 
With their flutterings. 

Long we looked and listened, while the 

Mystic bird still held on high, 
Its unswerving and aerial 
Vantage in the sky; 

While it still, unceasing, warbled 

Its glad paeon, strain on strain — 
Till we learned by heart, the measure 
Of the sweet refrain. 



102 A LYNTON MEMORY 

Till we felt, the while we waited, 

The lark did to us belong; 
That to us, its heart it opened, 
And for us the song. 

Long we looked and listened — then came 

One most sweet, last, lingering note, 
And the song was ended ; — and we 
Watched the singer float, 

Gently, like a blessing, downward 

From the blue of Heaven's dome, 
Downward, with an aim unerring, 
To its leafy home. 

It was gone ! — and from our spirits, 

The sweet tension was released; 
Then — that sense that comes when some- 
thing 
Beautiful has ceased; — 

That strange sense, of happy sadness, 
Of a loss that is not pain — 



A LYNTON MEMORY 103 

For the beauty and the essence 
Of the joy remain. 

Still, for me, the lark is singing — 
Time and place, no barriers are; 
For within my heart, I hear it 
— When I listen with the spirit — 
Inward echoes from afar. 



THE NEW ALLEGIANCE 

VERY reverently and gently 
We would lay the Old Year down, 
With the burden of his crosses, 
With the glory of his crown. 

Thanks we give for many a blessing 
His beneficence hath brought, 

Many a hope fulfilled — or thwarted — 
Many a solemn lesson taught. 

Yet, though tears perchance are welling, 

As we lay the asphodel 
On his bier — we may not linger 

O'er repining, or farewell, — 

For there enters at the portal 
One illumined with the dawn — 

And with requiem, are blending 
Aves to the guest new-born. 
(104) 



THE NEW ALLEGIANCE 105 

Confident in heavenly purpose, 
Pure without reproach or fear, 

Hope, his strength and inspiration — 
Thus he comes, — the glad New Year! 

We confess his peerless knighthood, 
We would follow where he leads; 

Dreams shall merge into fruition, 
Good thoughts into noble deeds. 

And we spring to catch his banner 
That it may not touch the dust — 

W'hile we pledge a new allegiance. 
Oh, for strength to keep the trust! 



AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH 



"rydal mount" 



I TREAD, with reverent steps, the path 
Which thou didst tread before, — 
The terrace on the woodland slope, 

That leadeth from thy door. 
Thou art not here — but yet, I feel 
Thy presence evermore. 

Nature's dear poet, everywhere 

Thy touch divine, I trace; 
Thy spirit's touch — there lingers still, 

A fine, reflected grace, — 
The essence of thy gentle thought, 

Which consecrates the place. 

Each mossy stone, each blade of grass, 
Each bird and flower and tree, 

Speaks in a language of its own, 
A mystic melody, — 
(106) 



AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH 107 

The language of the spirit-world, 
Interpreted by thee. 

Each note of Nature's symphony, 

From lowliest flower that grows, 
To grandeur of Helvellyn's height — 

Thy living poetry shows. 
To thee, did Nature willingly, 

Her inmost heart disclose. 

My mind recalls a thousand things 

That unto thee belong, — 
The field of waving daffodils, 

The reaper's plaintive song; 
Yarrow — and all thy high intents 

That strove to lessen wrong. 

The things thy hand, perchance, hath touched, 

Are now, within my reach; 
My heart has " thoughts that lie too deep 

For tears" — too deep for speech, — 
Thoughts of the messages divine, 

Thy poems ever teach. 



108 AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH 

'Tis here, thou must have walked — here 
sat — 

And here it was, I know, 
That thou, as Nature's worshipper, 

Didst gaze, with quickened flow 
Of feeling, on the beauteous scene 

That spreads itself below. 

And, as I gaze on the expanse 

Of garden, lake, and lea — 
I feel the influence of its charm, — 

I feel myself to be 
Partaking of the spirit's food, 

Which helped to nourish thee. 



RE-CREATED 

BEYOND the cloistered precincts of my 
life, 
Beyond the limits of the place and 
hour, 
'T is sometimes given to my soul to pass 

— By guidance of some kind, angelic 
power — 

Untrammelled pass, through gateways Beau- 
tiful; 
And in the light of the divine tran- 
sition, 
No longer darkly, but as face to face, 

My soul, with new receptiveness of 
vision, 

Sees "the immenseness of the fair and good;" 
And hears — with sense known to the 
spirit only — 

(109) 



no RE-CREATED 

The harmony that underlies all sound, 

And each cessation we call silence 
lonely. 

A sweet, pervasive influence is felt, 

A consciousness of Love divine, a merg- 
ing 
Of self within the Infinite intent, 

Around all and through all forever surg- 
ing. 

These are the moments of the spirit's growth, 
The sacred moments of the soul's expan- 
sion; 
Then is revealed, as in apocalypse, 

Some gleaming forecast of a Heavenly 
mansion. 

What is it that can open gateways Beau- 
tiful?— 
Some lovely phase of Nature has the 
power; 
Some strain of music, or some loving word — 
A memory even, or an opening flower. 



RE-CREATED III 

The vision passes — but there still remains 
A glory — for the spirit, re-created, 

Has learned, how near to grandeur is our 
dust, 
How closely earth to Heaven is related. 



A WISH 

" There is, in man, a higher than love of Happiness ; he can 
do without Happiness, a)id instead thereof, find Blessed- 
ness." — Carlyle. 

"\ T 7HAT is the highest thing, my friend, 

* » That heart may wish for thee? 
What is the thing to hold most dear, 
Standing, as now, at the New Year, 
In sweet expectancy? 

All happiness? On every side 

We hear the glad refrain; 
And yet — there is a heart's desire, 
With aim that holier is and "higher;" 

To this we would attain. 

For "happiness" may prove too vague, 

Too fleeting to possess; 
And then it is, the earnest mind 
"Instead thereof" at last can find 

A crown of "blessedness." 

(112) 



A WISH 113 

So this, the highest thing, I wish: — 

May blessedness be thine! 
The grace which cometh from above, 
Giving to human life and love 

A touch of the divine! 



TO S. H. A. 



A PEN PICTURE 



ONE there is, whose youth supernal, 
And whose gracious sympathy, 
Are as living waters, ever 
Flowing beautiful and free. 

And to us, to whom is given 

The sweet privilege to sit 
At her feet, to learn life's meaning, 

As she doth interpret it, — 

Unto us it seems, age cannot 
Touch her, with its stern decree; 

Nor can custom ever stale, her 
Infinite variety. 

From her treasure-house of knowledge, 
Still she giveth without end; 

Never doth she fail us — she is 
Guide, philosopher, and friend. 
(114) 



TO S. H. A. 115 

She, in truth, hath climbed Parnassus — 

And, enshadowed in her hair, 
We can see the wreath of laurel, 

Of which she is unaware. 

What are years — four-score or over — 
When, like angels, they confer 

Only gifts that are divinest? 
Verily it seems, with her, 

Years bring but increase of wisdom, 

And of gentleness and love; 
And of beauty — a reflection 

From the light divine, above. — 

This the picture, that I cherish 

Very fondly in my heart. 
'T is thy portrait! — though its blended 

Half-tones show us but in part, 
What, in fulness of completion, 

Dearly-beloved friend, thou art. 

1909. 



EASTER MORNING 

FROM the portals of the day 
Is the darkness rolled away, 
As the stone, by shining angel, that first 
Easter morn. 
And upon my spirit's night 
Come, with healing wings of light, 
Morning joy and revelation and a hope new- 
born. 

The divineness of the hour 
Blends with bird and sky and flower; 
And the fulness of their measure leaves no 
room for sadness. 
Hearts perforce with Nature sing 
At the sweet awakening 
Of the radiance of spring-tide and the Easter 
gladness. 

(n6) 



EASTER MORNING 117 

"Earth is beautiful," we say; 
But — for one who yesterday 
Walked with us in human presence — unto her 
are given 
Visions in diviner guise, 
Fairer flowers, purer skies, 
And the high and holy Easter symphonies of 
Heaven. 



TO J. D. 

DEAR Friend — whose gentle steps have 
trod 

The road of Ninety Years — 
We come to greet you where you stand, — 
Serene upon life's table-land, 

Immune from cares and fears; 

For through the vista of the Past, 

You gaze without regret; 
And calmly, with transcendent faith, 
You wait, for what the Future hath 

In keeping for you, yet. 

Your heart still beats with sympathy 

For all who joy or mourn; 
This sheds a light about your way, 
Making the sunset of your day, 

As beautiful as dawn. 
(118) 



TO J. D. 119 

And so, we cannot wish for you 

More than you now possess, — 

For Faith and Hope and Charity, 

Make an angelic company, 

To guard you, and to bless. 

Still the fair circle of your life, 

Works to its perfect round. 
When spirits — which from Heaven come — 
Return to their Celestial Home — 
Then is completion found. 

June 3, 1909. 



THE IDEAL IS THE REAL 

BECAUSE he is revealed less fine, less 
noble, 
Because the circling halo 'round his head, 
Is faded — as the day fades into gloaming — 
Because the flower of friendship lieth dead; 

Shall I, because of this, my faith relinquish 

In love, in honor, in sincerity? 
Shall I affirm that instincts the divinest — 

Which give to life its worth — have ceased 
to be? 

Not that, not ever that — my heart's recesses 
Still hold — like saint enshrined — my fair 
Ideal; 
This is my friend, I do not know — the other; 
This, and this only, is for me, the Real. 
(120) 



"YADDO" 

WOODLAND paths and placid waters, 
Where the bending branches meet 
Their own beauty in reflection, 
And the sylvan scene repeat; 

Velvet lawns and bordering hedge-rows, 

Flower gardens, where are blent 
Summer's lingering hues with autumn's, — 

This is the environment 

Of a mansion, wide and stately, 

Diamond-paned and ivy-clad — 
And we ponder, — "Here, if ever, 

Must the heart of man be glad!" 

"What" — we question — "do they call this 
Spot where Art and Nature meet, 

In so beautiful an aspect, 
And a union so complete?" 

(12!) 



122 YADDO 

And the answer, — "This is ' Yaddo' — 

Which aright interpreted, 
Was a child's own word for shadow; 

When a happy mother, said, — 

"'We will call our castle, " Sunshine," ' — 
The child-poet interposed, — 

'Where there 's sunshine, there is yaddo!' 
Verily there seemed disclosed 

"To that infant mind, a vision 
Of what coming days might bring, — 

For, full soon, the radiant picture 
Knew a great o'ersh ado wing. 

"For there came a Heavenly mandate — 
Sweet and low, yet positive — '■ 

To the children, — ' Come up higher, 
In a Home divine to live!' 

"And the children all responded 

To the roll-call from above; 
Earthly beauty could not hold them, 

Nor the power of human love. 



YADDO 123 

"So, when loneliness and sorrow 
Came like shadows to abide, — 

Then it was, the name of 'Yaddo/ 
Seemed a word that signified 

All the pathos of the Present, 
And the joy the Past implied." 



THE MAY-DAY MEETING 

W. B. W. 

COMES again, the May-Day meeting 
With its joy, and friendly greeting, 
Ready wit and cheer! 
By this function, thus enacted, 
Kind exchanges are transacted, 
And old friendships re-compacted 
For another year. 

Comes again, the May-Day meeting — 
Joys of other years, repeating! 

And the thought of these, 
Adds, with cumulative measure, 
To the present May-Day's pleasure, 
For, within our hearts we treasure, 

Troops of memories. 
(124) 



THE MAY-DAY MEETING 12, 

And he, who upon us, showers 
Words of welcome, favors, flowers, — 

Our beloved host — 
May he have, as life advances, 
Everything his spirit fancies, 
And his happiness enhances ! — 

This for him, our toast. 

Milton, May 1, 1912. 



IN MAY 

OH, to be born in May — in May, 
When all the world is young ! 
When Nature holds divinest sway. 
Oh, to be born in May, in May, 
When every heart keeps holiday, 

The month the bards have sung! 
Oh, to be born in May, in May, 
When all the world is young ! 
(126) 



AN EFFECT AT PROVINCETOWN 

AMONG the pictures that my soul doth 
keep 
For retrospect and solace — there is one 
So beautiful it may not be outdone : — 
Buff sand-dunes, gray-green herbage, and a 

sweep 
Of sky and ocean, of a blue so deep, 
Divine, and wonderful — 't is like to none 
In beauty but itself. A noon-day sun 
Seems with its radiance to immerse, to steep 
Each breadth of color in Eternal Day, 
Without a cloud or shadow. Verily, 
A picture which no artist could portray 
On any earthly canvas; and to be 
Possessed of it there is a single way, — 
To once have seen — then hold the memory. 

(127) 



WHAT IS DEATH 

WHAT is Death — but the awaking, 
When this dream of life is o'er? 
But Eternal Morning, breaking 
For eyes that shall weep no more? 

What is Death — but Heaven's portal, 

Wide and beautiful and free? 
But the birth of this, our mortal, 

Into Immortality? 

What is Death — but a desire 

Of the soul — divinely sent? 
But a step beyond and higher, 

Toward a full development? 

What is Death — but the most faithful 
Of all friends, through ages past? — 

'T is the name of the kind Angel 
That shall lead us Home, at last. 
(128) 



THANKFULNESS 

"Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good ; for 
his mercy endureth forever ." 

WHEN skies of summer bend their blue 
above us, 
— A benediction felt, although unsaid — 
When in green pastures beside quiet waters 
Our willing steps are led, — 

When by dear friends, and true, we are com- 
panioned, 
Life's fairest flowers in our brimming hands, 
When heart responds to heart in love's sweet 
language 
Love only understands, — 

When thus environed, in our exaltation, 

Heart, mind, and being in divine accord, 
Our happiness, in reaching for expression, 
Gives " thanks unto the Lord." 

(129) 



130 THANKFULNESS 

But when the way is rough, perchance, and 
weary, 
When flowers wither, and the day is sped, 
And when our loneliness, like that in Rama, 
Will not be comforted, — 

Oh, then 't is very hard for us to utter 
Those words of thankfulness — we cannot 
see 
The goodness and the mercy — we are living 
Our own Gethsemane. 

But when at last through suffering comes knowl- 
edge, 
And faith divine, clearer than morning 
sun, 
Sheds its pure radiance upon our pathway, 
Revealing, one by one, 

Each roughness circled with a heavenly halo, 

And angel guides for every steep ascent — 
Then, we thank God for "mercy that en- 
dureth," 
And for enlightenment. 



THANKFULNESS 131 

And full as beautiful as skies of summer, 
Or pastures green, or fairest flowers e'er 
given, 
Will seem to us our valley of the shadow, 
When it conducts to Heaven. 



TO E. C. 

DEAR my friend — if I should ever 
Try thy virtues to portray — 
To assist in the endeavor, 

I should call upon the day — 
I should call upon the sunshine, 
And the flowers by the way. 

On the sunshine — for the brightness 

That thou ever dost impart; 
On the flowers — for their lightness, 

Beauty, grace, — like them thou art; 
And the time — it should be morning, 

For thy youthfulness of heart. 

But what pen could shape the phrasing, 
That the record might be true, 

And not merely idle praising? — 
Perhaps Wordsworth's pen would do — 

Or a quill from Shelley's skylark, 
Wafted downward from the blue. 
(132) 



TO E. C. 133 

Thus equipped and thus conditioned, 
I, thine attributes could sing; 

I should hold myself, commissioned 
To do this — and to thee bring 

A love-poem, true and tender, 
For a votive offering. 



A SUMMER MORNING 

THE waking world revolves from out the 
shadows, 
Into a veil of opalescent mist. 
The morning dawns — through eastern gates 
uplifted, 
And clouds of pink and gold and amethyst. 

I feel the gentle movement of its coming — 
A presence, beautiful to every sense; 

The flowers and the grasses stir — performing 
A mute obeisance, as in reverence. 

The birds, their matin hymns of praise are 
singing, 
And everything in Nature seems to be 
Attuned to gladness. My own heart's emotion 
Is one of tense and quiet ecstasy. 
(134) 



A SUMMER MORNING 135 

The beauty and the freshness, and the fra- 
grance — 
Like incense upward borne from Nature's 
shrine — 
The blessings manifold " new every morning," 
Are signs and messages of Love divine. 

The morning dawns ! — Life's duties and life's 
pleasures 

Are waiting, to attend us on our way. 
0, soul of mine, put on thy morning panoply, 

Of faith and hope and love, to meet the day ! 



THY PANSIES 

C. S. G. 

THY pansies on my heart I wore — 
Each flower a though t*of thee; 
From morning until even-tide, 
I felt thy spirit by my side, 
In conscious sympathy. 

When from their biding-place, I loosed 
The flowers, with soft regret — 

Each leaf and petal drooped, as dead; 

" But ye have served your day," — I said 
"The day is ended." Yet, 

Because of this, I could not cast 

Them utterly away; 
I tended them, as one tends flowers, 
Then left them through the midnight 
hours; — 
And at the break of day, 
(136) 



THY PANSIES 137 

At first I felt, and then I saw, 

A radiance in my room, — 
Each pansy, into life re-born, 
Lifting its face, to greet the dawn, 

In fresh and perfect bloom. 

"Dear flowers," — I said, — "it seems 
to me 

Another thought, ye prove, — 
That fainting hearts, if true and tried, 
Can surely be revivified, 

Through alchemy of Love." 



THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT 

LEAD me again — oh, take my hand, 
Dear spirit-guide of old ! 
Bear me to that Elysian land, 

Where dreams, like flowers, unfold — 
And where things, best and truest, come un- 
bidden and untold. 

Those are the sweetest melodies 

By mortal ear unheard; 
They come to us in silences, 
When hearts are deepest stirred ; 
Like that divine, that still small voice, that 
came without a word. 

Again I feel, dear spirit-guide, 

The sweet security, 
Thy haloed presence by my side, 
Doth ever bring to me, — 
That sense of earth-detachment — yet of 
finest sympathy. 
(138) 



TEE WAY OF THE SPIRIT 139 

The sense that shows to me, a light, 

A beauty, never known 
On sea or land — because the sight 
Is for the soul alone; 
The sense that helps me hear, and feel, life's 
rhymic undertone. 



TO S. H. A. 

ON HER NINETY-FIRST BIRTHDAY 
DECEMBER 27, I914 

ANOTHER year has passed away ! 
Again, upon this happy Day, 
You sit, like some fair Queen of May, 

Enthroned among your flowers ! 
Without, the world is white with snow 
But here, within, we only know 
The charm of summer hours. 

We cannot say — we do not own — 
That shadows may be longer grown, 
Although the years, by record shown, 

Have reached to Ninety-One; 
For, at this time, with joy still rife, 
This high meridian of your life — 

There is no set of sun! 
(140) 



TO S. II. A. 141 

The light, your presence radiates, 
Each friend you smile upon, elates, 
And in its quality partakes 

Of the sweet light of morn. 
Stars did in unison combine 
To form a horoscope divine, 

The day that you were born. 

And now, before your shrine, to-day, 
Our votive offerings we lay — 
Our gifts of flower and roundelay, 

To grace the year that 's done. 
But more than these things, you receive, — 
Blessings and love and honor, weave 

A Crown — for Ninety-One ! 



AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

THANK you, sweet, but unknown singer, 
for the beauty of your singing ! 
Thank you for the thoughts it brings me, — 
" thoughts that lie too deep for tears." 
In my heart, the measured cadence of the 
music still is ringing, 
Waking from their slumbers, tender memo- 
ries of by-gone years. 

It has been a revelation; it has made me 
purer, stronger; 
It has touched a chord within me, that 
has tuned my heart aright. 
Worldly cares and apprehensions hold me with 
their force, no longer; 
To my mind has come releasement, to my 
eyes a clearer sight. 
(142) 



AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT 143 

With this sense of spirit-freedom, I go on my 
way with gladness; 
Every object in my pathway, now assumes 
a new, sweet guise ; 
And the star of hope, whose brightness can 
dispel the shades of sadness, 
Shines upon me like a holy benediction from 
the skies. 

But you — my unknown inspirer — you are 
lost to me forever. 
With the ceasing of the music, you have 
gone — I know not where. 
And although these words I utter, on this 
earth may reach you never — 
Undeterred by doubt, I waft them dove-like 
on the pathless air! 



IN AUTUMN 

ALTHOUGH the roses all have died, 
With leisure days and long, 
Although no little bird outside 
My lattice, in the morning-tide, 
Delighteth me with song, — 

Although from elm and maple tree 
The dead leaves flutter down, 

And lined against the sky I see 

The delicate, sad tracery 
Of tangled branches brown, — 

Although my steps no longer tend 

By mountain-side or shore, 
Although the gentle-hearted friend 
Who did to life new meaning lend, 

Now walks with me no more, — 
(144) 



IN AUTUMN 145 

Although all sights and sounds express 

The one sad word, farewell — 
Yet, in my spirit's deep recess, 
That mystic, inner consciousness 

Where mind and memory dwell, — 

'T is there I keep, as evidence 

That good can never end, 
— More real it seems than outward sense — 
The sweet, enduring influence 

Of bird and flower and friend. 



TO L. D. 

November 30, 1916 

ON this bright Thanksgiving morning, 
— With an atmosphere like May — 
Do we come, dear friend, to greet you, 

And our little gifts to lay 
At your feet, with loving wishes 
For your happiness To-day! 

But much fairer gifts and higher, 

Heaven did on you bestow, 
That Thanksgiving-Day, you wandered 

Earthward — Ninety Years ago — 
Holding fast your gifts, as blessings 

For the waiting friends below. 

Goodness, Gentleness and Beauty — 
These the gifts! You surely could 
(146) 



TO L. D. 147 

Nothing sweeter bring, as blessings — 

And when all is understood, 
These the attributes most needed 

For our " nature's daily food." 



FRIENDSHIP 

THE sweetest thing that we can find, 
In all our earthly quest, 
The thing that gives to human life, 
Its beauty and its zest, 

That in the spirit's darkest night, 

Like star of morning, glows, 
That makes the desert to rejoice, 

And blossom as the rose, — 

Is Friendship ! — Let us cherish it, 

And lay before its shrine, 
The faith and reverence and love, 

We give to things divine ! 
(148) 



THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT 

BEFORE I dare to supplicate 
For life's divinest thing, 
Before I reach expectant hands, 

For the fair offering — 
0, let me with my heart commune, 
In solemn questioning. 

" O heart of mine, art thou so pure, 

So spirit-whole, so good, 
That thou shouldst seek to claim as thine, 

This high beatitude? 
To stand on ground as consecrate, 

As that where Moses stood? 

" Hast thou, in vision and in thought, 

Attained that highest height, 
That heavenly environment, 

Where self is lost to sight, — 
As stars of morning, lose themselves 

In day's transcendent light? 
(149) 



150 THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT 

"If this thou art, if this thou hast 

Attained, O heart of mine, 
Then, thou art worthy, by thy grace, 

To be the sacred shrine, 
For this high thing which thou wouldst have, 

This fairest, most divine." — 

Before this inquisition, which 

I with my spirit hold — 
I can but bow my humbled head, 

In sorrow uncontrolled. 
0, what am I, that I should dream 

Of blessedness untold? 

And yet — is not this earnest wish, 

This hearts desire, this need, 
A force to bear my spirit up, 

To higher thought and deed? 
May I not count it as a voice, 

For me to intercede? 

I think its strength of being doth 
Its own divineness show — 



THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT 151 

I think it is a guide, to light 
The way that I should go — 

To lead me to my higher self, 
Perchance to Heaven, — and so, 

Before the mercy-seat, my heart's 

Unspoken thought, I lay; 
And dare to hope fulfilment for 

The wish I may not say, — 
Because it lies too deep to find 

A pathway to the day. 



A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 

YARROW! — A dream that I had 
dreamt — 
That Wordsworth's poems taught me — 
A dream that flights of fancy lent, 
And musing hours brought me ! 

We 'd gazed on many a charming spot, 

Immortalized in story, 
On castles, ne'er to be forgot, 

And mountains high and hoary. 

Yet — in my heart did still abide 

A thought, akin to sorrow; 
And ofttimes to myself, I sighed, — 

"I never have seen — Yarrow!" 

We wandered on, from place to place, 

In mental exaltation; 
So full was time, there seemed no space 

For further exploration. 

(152) 



A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 153 

But ah, at length, there dawned a day, 
— A happy space, though narrow — 

When we could say, — " We '11 make to-day 
Our pilgrimage to Yarrow!" 

O'er Ettrick hills — that day of days — 

A pleasant way, we wended, 
Where sheep, amid the heather graze, 

By "Ettrick shepherds" tended. 

It led to "still St. Mary's Lake," 

Which opened to our vision 
Like sunshine between clouds that break — 

So sweet was the transition. 

So motionless its waters lie, 

That unto them is given 
The beauty of the bending sky, — 

One knows not which is heaven. 

To this divinest source, the stream 

Of Yarrow owes its being; 
Which, although lovely in a dream, 

Was lovelier in the seeing. 



154 A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 

More beautiful the flowers and trees, 

Upon its borders growing; 
More beautiful the melodies, 

It murmured in its flowing. 

Fair the expanse of meadows green, 
As made for childhood's pleasures; 

And fair the "braes" — which oft have been 
The theme of poets' measures. 

Rising above the travelled ways, 

Is ancient Newark Tower; 
Where echoes faint of minstrel lays 

Come from a by-gone hour. — 

I had — that day without alloy — 

A feeling — not of gladness, 
A feeling, too subdued for joy, 

And yet too sweet for sadness. 

Yarrow! — Where lights with shadows wait, 
For those who see and know it; 

A spot that is made consecrate 
By lover and by poet. 



A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 155 

Its beauty, I devoutly felt — 

So much unseen revealing; 
Its charm into my heart did melt — 

Vague, mystic, yet appealing. 

Among the pictures I love best, 

For retrospect to borrow — 
The fairest and the tenderest, 

The most beloved, — is Yarrow. 



TO MY SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY 

August 29, 1919 

DEAR — another birthday cometh, with 
its blessings and its beauty! 
And although the shadows lengthen, yet the 
shadows are but few; 
Summer skies are bright above you — still the 
sun performs its duty; 
And the light and shade commingled, make 
the radiance more true. 

Flowers bloom about your pathway, — flowers 
of friendship and affection; 
Through this garden of the Present, you are 
moving calm and free, — 
With a Past of good achievement, to uplift 
you, in reflection — 
And those words of blessed import, — " Ye 
have done it unto Me." 
(156) 



TO MY SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY 157 

And, dear — we are still together! — happy 
memories behind us, 
And the star of faith before us, with its 
guidance from on high, 
For our garden of the Present — to inspire 
and remind us — 
As "we wander on together, you and I." 



A FAVORITE AUTHOR 

HE is not dead — for spirit never dies. 
'T was only through the spirit that we 
met. 
Then wherefore, any feeling of regret, 
If to Empyrean heights, beyond the skies, 
His spirit has obeyed the call to rise? 
To me, no change has come. I will forget 
That he is gone. With me, there lingers yet 
The rapture of possession — which defies 
Material circumstance. The printed page 
Still offers me the charm of intercourse; 
Through that blest medium, I still can find 
The food my spirit needs; my heritage 
It is, — a sweet and a perennial source 
Of joy, and of refreshment to the mind. 

(158) 



CHRISTMAS EVE 

HEMLOCK boughs are twined, and holly, 
'Round the window-panes to-night; 
And the moon shines through the lattice, 

And the Yule-tide log burns bright. 
I would live again the fancies 
That my heart and brain invite. 

And they come — a long procession, 
Through the vista of the years, — 

Some with joyous mien and measure, 
Some just visible through tears, 

Some illumined with the halo 
That a holy sorrow wears. 

Memories they are of other 

Christmas eves that once I knew; 

And they seem in their distinctness, 
Very tangible and true — 
(159) 



160 CHRISTMAS EVE 

As they pass before my vision — 
Shining angels in review. 



One there is that lingers longest — 
One the fairest that I know; 

It is pictured in the moonlight, 
It reflects the fire's glow; 

Beautiful in tender half-tones — 
For it was so long ago. 

'T is of childhood — there is firelight — 
And a presence most benign, 

Folds me in a fond embracement — 
Sheltering love and strength combine; 

While a voice in gentle cadence, 
Tells me of the Child Divine; 

Of the song of hosts angelic, 
Of the star which led the way 

To the humble spot and holy, 
Where the infant Saviour lay; 

He whose cradle was a manger, 
And "whose softest bed was hay." 



CHRISTMAS EVE 161 

And my child-heart thrills with feelings 
Much too deep for childish speech, — 

With a soft, adoring pity, 
With a love no word can reach. 

For so wondrous are the lessons 
That this story old can teach. 

While I muse, the fancy passes — 
And the firelight fades away — 

And the beautiful calm moonlight 
Holds its undisputed sway; 

While the midnight chime announces 
Yet another Christmas Day. 



ATTAINMENT 

I MY cherished wish have won ! 
Stress and striving now are done. 
I, the mountain-height have gained, 
Of my spirit's hope attained. 

I, my cherished wish have won, — 
But within my heart, is none 
Of the exaltation free, 
That attends on victory. 

Beautiful about me seems 
This fulfilment of my dreams; 
Beautiful — but yet mine eyes 
Turn, to where below me lies, 

On the slope, a wilderness, 
Sun bereft and flowerless — 
And amid the shadow deep, 
One is toiling up the steep; 
(162) 



ATTAINMENT 163 

Striving, with undaunted will, 
To o'ercome each obstacle. 
Will his spirit still prevail, 
Should the signs of promise, fail? 

Can he, when life's shadows seem 
Deepest, still discern — "the Gleam?" 
" Follow it," and find his way 
To the amplitude of day? 

When my friend the height has gained 
Of his spirit's hope attained — 
Then, and only then, for me, 
Will be joy in victory. 



BY THE SEA 



EVENING 



THE evening comes ! The sea is sad ! 
It mourns the day departed. 
In melancholy tones, it chants 

A requiem broken-hearted. — 
My spirit, vaguely, is oppressed 
With apprehension and unrest. 

MORNING 

The morning comes ! The sun-lit sea 
Performs a friendly greeting, — 

Its dancing waves, with rhymic grace, 
Advancing and retreating — 

To music of their own, as if 
A happy song repeating. 

How beautiful, the wide, blue sea, 

In its sublime immensity! 

My spirit feels itself to be 

Glad, with it all, in sympathy. 
(164) 



CARCASSONNE 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 
GUSTAVE NADAUD 

11 T'M sixty! I am growing old! 

-*■ A life of toil has been my part, 
With never time to satisfy 

The chief desire of my heart. 
I 've learned, there cannot be, on earth, 

Full happiness for anyone; 
My fondest wish is unfulfilled; — 

I never have seen Carcassonne! 



"That radiant city on the height! 

It lies behind yon mountains blue. 
And to attain to it, one must 

Five lengthy leagues of road pursue; 
And then the same length to return. 

Ah ! if kind fate would smile upon 
The vintage — then perchance — but no, 

I never shall see Carcassonne! 
(165) 



166 CARCASSONNE 

"They say, it seems there, neither more 

Nor less than Sunday, every day; 
The people always look so fine, 

In new coats, and in white array; 
They say, the towers and battlements 

Are grand as those of Babylon; 
A bishop and two generals there ! 

Alas! I know not Carcassonne! 

"The vicar, he is always right, 

He said, — our indiscretions can 
Despoil our lives, and that in truth, 

Ambition is the bane of man. 
But yet — if ever I could find 

Two days, when autumn work is done — 
Mon Dieu! contented I should die, 

If once, I had seen Carcassonne ! 

" Mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! If this my prayer 
Offendeth Thee, O, pardon me! 

In age, as well as youth, our dreams 
Are higher than reality. 



CARCASSONNE 167 

My wife and eldest son, Aignan, 
Travelled as far, once, as Narbonne; 

My god-son has seen Perpignan; 
And I — have not seen Carcassonne!" 

Thus sighed a peasant near Limoux; 

His form was bowed with toil and sorrow. 
I said to him, — "My friend, have hope! 

We '11 go to Carcassonne to-morrow." 
We started — but when half-way there, 

(May Heaven his little faults condone,) 
When half-way there, the good man — died. 

He never looked on Carcassonne. 



LIBRARY OF CgjfjSgSi 

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